


The Golden Kernel

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Incandescent Hearts [15]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Cranky McCoy, Fluff, Friendship, Gentle Spock, Incandescent Hearts (Star Trek Series), Learning to trust, M/M, One Shot, Protective Spock, Sleepy McCoy, Snarky McCoy, Trust Issues, Wistful Spock, caring spock, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: Spock takes care of McCoy when he needs to eat and get some sleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write the start of two different fics, and this scene didn't quite fit either one. So I am offering it as a sweet little piece to show that the heart of our favorite Vulcan really is in the right place and not below his left armpit!

Spock slipped soundlessly into Dr. McCoy’s office in sickbay. The rest of the Enterprise was plunged into artificial night, and lights all over the Starship were glowing on a soft dim setting. It was shadowy in McCoy’s office, also, except for the bright light burning at McCoy’s desk. 

Spock held food containers in his hands, but stopped to study the man slumped at the desk. McCoy sat with his head down and a pencil in his hand as if he was preparing to make an important note. But McCoy himself was fast asleep. His slumbers must have caught him in the middle of a thought.

Spock set the food containers on the desk, then studied McCoy closer. The doctor really should just go to bed and get some much needed rest. But Spock knew if he awakened the man, he would rant and rave and order Spock away. McCoy probably wouldn’t even eat the food that Spock had brought for him, and McCoy really should eat. He really should sleep. He really should take better care of himself! 

But trying to reason with McCoy was like trying to reason with a bulkhead on the Enterprise. Both McCoy and the bulkhead were equally immovable and indifferent. The only difference was that the bulkhead was mute, while McCoy was anything but mute.

Spock couldn’t decide whether to awaken McCoy or leave him to his slumbers. Either seemed like a poor choice. Not knowing really what to do, Spock decided, though, that it was critical that he remove that pencil from McCoy’s hand before McCoy injured himself. Why the man insisted on using the primitive writing devices, Spock had no idea. It was just another quirk in the strange behavioral patterns of Leonard McCoy. Spock found the actions of Earthlings to be illogical, exhausting, and counter productive most of the time, but McCoy’s behavior could be downright puzzling and just plain stubborn. 

Spock gently, but firmly grasped the pencil and withdrew it without a whisper of pressure against McCoy’s fingers. He set the pencil on the desk and decided to leave the man to his rest. 

But when he turned away, McCoy said, “What do you think that you’re up to, hobgoblin?”

Spock grimaced, but cleared his face as he turned back. The doctor’s eyes were weak and bleary from lack of sleep and his skin was slack and mottled from dehydration.

“I brought you something to eat and drink, Doctor.”

“Don’t want it,” McCoy muttered and scrubbed his hand over his face. That gesture didn’t help his looks any. If anything, he looked like he was trying to see through murky water and failing.

“Then go to bed and get some proper rest.”

“Can’t. Gotta work, trying to get this virus isolated and studied.”

“You will be contracting the virus yourself, if you permit yourself to get run down and dehydrated further. I brought herbal tea and ramen noodles. And yogurt with fruit.”

McCoy snorted. “If I drink all of that liquid, I’ll slosh!”

“And I will bring you more tea in an hour.”

“I’ll be afloat by that time!”

“You will not,” Spock said firmly. “You need to hydrate your system. All sorts of bad problems could arise if you permit yourself to deteriorate.”

McCoy scrubbed his face again with his hand. “Oh, hell, Spock, I must be bad off. You’re starting to make sense.”

Spock sensed a victory. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Drink your tea and eat your food. Now! No arguing.”

“You’re a mean old lady!” McCoy complained, but reached for the noodle container. “Prissy old maid!” he added just to be good and bitchy. “Meddling Vulcan! What the hell is your problem, anyway?! Borrowing trouble?! I can sure as hell give it to you, if that’s what you’re wanting!”

“Now, Doctor. Do not be difficult. That is a sure sign that you are needing nourishment. Just eat your food.”

“Damn Vulcan,“ McCoy grumbled under his breath, but took the top off the container of food and sniffed. “Hmm. Smells good. Guess I’d forgotten how tempting that food can be. Thanks,” he mumbled as he spooned some of the noodles and broth into his mouth. His eyes swung up to Spock and narrowed. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I do not need the same amount of sleep that you Earthlings require.”

“But you still require some! So, off with you! Go hunt up that perch that you roost on! Or hang from! Or whatever in the hell it is that you do!”

“I am not a chicken, Doctor, nor am I a bat. I have a narrow bed, the same as you do. And you should be in your bed now.”

“There’s sick people out on that planet, Spock,” McCoy said, suddenly seriously. “They need my help.”

“That is no reason why there should be a sick Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise, or one who is working with a compromised mental capability or beyond his own physical endurance.”

McCoy set aside the noodle container and picked up the yogurt. “Has anyone ever told you that you can be damn aggravating, Vulcan?”

“Not since you talked to me last.”

“Well, you can be,” McCoy plowed ahead with his thought, without acknowledging what Spock had said.

Something in what McCoy had said resonated with Spock. “Just why do you think that I am aggravating, Doctor?”

“Because you’re always so damn right,” McCoy mumbled.

Spock was not in the habit of smiling, let alone laughing out loud, but he felt like doing both at that moment. He realized that McCoy must be very tired to be admitting things like this to him.

“And now drink the tea, Doctor.”

“Then I’ll have to hunt up the bathroom!”

“You must keep all of those systems performing their duties so that you can function properly.”

McCoy growled, just out and out growled.

Spock had that insane desire to laugh again. “What, Doctor?”

“You’re being right, again!”

Spock took the nearly empty cup out of McCoy’s hand that was beginning to shake slightly.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“That is it, Doctor,” Spock said firmly as he set the cup on the desk.

“That’s what?” McCoy asked, soundly truly puzzled.

Spock stopped and frowned at McCoy. “That is generally what I say when I have difficulty with your idioms. Now you know how it feels.”

“You still have not explained your ultimatum. ‘That is it!’ Sounds like something that a frustrated beginning teacher would say when she has no discipline in the classroom, and she wishes she had access to a phaser set on kill. Are you going into some sort of prissy snit now? Or hissy fit?” He grinned. “That’s kind of funny, you know? Imagine you throwing a hissy. Come on, Spock! Show me a hissy! Pitch me a beauty! I could sell tickets! I could make millions! No one would believe it! The audience would be stunned! A Vulcan with a genuine emotion! Who woulda thought?!”

“You are acting silly.”

Wild glee was smeared all over McCoy’s maniacal face. “Hell, Spock, we’ll rake in the money! I should’ve thought about it before! We’re going into show biz! Nothing can stop us! We‘re going straight to the top!” His eyes rolled as he considered his next statement, which to him was hysterically funny. “Straight to the top of the big top!”

“No, Doctor, YOU are going to bed,” Spock said firmly. 

Fire flew out of McCoy‘s eyes as his glee instantly vanished. “I am not!”

“You are so.”

“You, and what team of Romulan shirttail cousins of yours?!”

“No Romulans. No cousins,” Spock answered with determination. “Just me. Over my shoulder, if necessary.”

“Why, I could take you, you little shrimp! Any time! Any place!” McCoy declared as he jumped out of his chair. Then he was scrabbling to grab the back of the chair to steady himself.

“Doctor--” Spock said as he grasped McCoy’s forearm.

“Dizzy. Just dizzy. I moved too fast, that’s all.”

“My shoulder is still available, if you are not going to listen to reason.”

“And a mighty tempting shoulder it is, too, Spock.” He waved Spock away. “Don’t bother. I’ll get there under my own steam.” But his steps were faltering.

Spock grabbed McCoy by the upper arm. “If you will allow me, Doctor.”

McCoy conceded in light of his general weakness and shakiness. No use to fall flat faced on the floor to prove a point. He wasn’t so punchy that he'd fail to realize that the point that he'd be proving would be Spock’s. 

“Do you want to sleep on one of the biobeds, Doctor?”

“No, my own bed would be better. Chapel and the others would find me in sickbay, and I’d be smothered and clucked over worse than what you’re doing! But that’s only because there’s more of them! You’re worse than an old setting hen, did you know that?!” 

“I am beginning to think that I have a very good reason,” Spock muttered back, showing a little angst himself.

“What?!” McCoy demanded.

“Never mind,” Spock answered with his patience restored. “Let us get you to your room now. You need to rest properly.”

“Damn Vulcan!” McCoy muttered as he let Spock lead him away.

“What is your problem now, Doctor?” 

“You’re right again!” McCoy muttered.

Spock allowed himself a small smile. He knew how difficult it must be for McCoy to admit to any sort of weakness. McCoy must be tired, indeed, to allow Spock to help him. The doctor must trust Spock, too, and Spock would not take that trust lightly. 

Spock led McCoy through the dim hallways, into the turbo lift, and then through more hallways. He was being very careful how he guided McCoy. Never before had this familiar walk seemed so much like a maze. Hard telling where McCoy might have wandered in his current state. The man was nearly asleep on his feet. 

At last the two men staggered to McCoy’s door and into his quarters.

“We are at your room now, Doctor. Is there anything I may get for you?”

“Bed. Just bed.”

Now that McCoy had admitted his sleepiness, he was quickly loosing awareness. Next, he would be slumping to the floor in a snoring mass.

Spock steered the stumbling man toward his bed. He grabbed McCoy by the upper arms and pushed him down on the mattress. McCoy collapsed with his head on his chest. Spock knelt and pulled off McCoy’s boots, then guided McCoy down onto the bed. Spock grabbed McCoy’s feet and swung them up on the bed, also. 

“My clothes,” McCoy mumbled.

Spock frowned. “You wish me to undress you, Doctor?”

That request brought some consciousness back to McCoy. “Hell, no!”

“It will not hurt for you to sleep in your clothing.”

“My thoughts, exactly,” McCoy mumbled and scrunched his face into the pillow.

Spock drew the covers up around McCoy and patted them over his shoulders. “Do you require anything else, Doctor?”

“No, no,” McCoy mumbled.

Spock turned to go. 

“Spock?”

Spock looked back. “Yes?”

“You’re a good friend, Spock. I appreciate all that you do for me. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Leonard,” Spock said carefully. But all the while he was thinking that McCoy must be very sleepy. The man probably would not remember how friendly he had been to Spock this evening, or how appreciative he‘d been. 

Spock knew he needed to savor the words of thanks because he probably wouldn‘t be hearing them too often. He especially noted that McCoy had said, “all that you do for me,” not “all that you did for me.” That meant that McCoy was including not only Spock’s kindness tonight, but any of Spock’s thoughtful gestures toward him at any other time. So, Spock’s efforts hadn’t been in vain, after all. 

Maybe McCoy couldn’t ordinarily bring himself to thank Spock. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t note the gestures and appreciate them. 

Then Spock had another thought. Maybe Spock’s kindness meant too much for McCoy to utter thanks. McCoy had been hurt so much by people that he couldn‘t make himself vulnerable for whatever reason. It was difficult for him to trust in simple gestures of good will. But inside, where it counted, McCoy appreciated what was done for him and to him with kindness. He appreciated and remembered. 

And, for now, that was enough.

Spock turned to go again and moved through the shadowy room quickly.

McCoy was asleep before Spock got out the door.

Anyone meeting Spock in the hallway didn’t want to disturb him. The alien with the inscrutable look on his face seemed to be in his own little world and seemed quite content with his thoughts. Little did his colleagues know that he was basking in the rays of a convoluted friendship.

 

We pick at kernels of corn hidden amongst the wheat straw. Sometimes it is only pieces of straw that are our reward. Sometimes we are fooled by the straw. Then we learn to recognize the difference, even if the straw is the same color as the corn kernel.

But, occasionally, only occasionally, we manage to find a golden kernel, and it tastes good. It is ambrosia on the tongue and is heady like the finest wine to our senses.

And we are satisfied and even grateful with what we have been privileged to find. It makes the struggle all worthwhile.

For it all could have been wheat straw.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
